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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758851">Making a Difference</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palaserece/pseuds/Palaserece'>Palaserece</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Batman - All Media Types, Miraculous Ladybug</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Dark, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Miraculous Side Effects, Protective Damian Wayne, Protective Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug, Realistic Villains</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 06:15:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>15,734</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24758851</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Palaserece/pseuds/Palaserece</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Becoming Ladybug changed Marinette and her perception of the world.</p><p>When Paris no longer needs a hero, Marinette decides it's time to move on.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Marinette Dupain-Cheng | Ladybug/Damian Wayne</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>139</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>700</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. New Beginnings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                An amber haze of fading sunlight shone over Gotham City, but the sense of foreboding thickened with each bit of ground swallowed by the growing darkness. Marinette quickly learned that Gotham, with its impoverished, ballooning population, wasn’t the safest place during the daylight hours, but it was entirely another creature when the sun went down.</p>
<p>                Every dark alley was a potential mugging, rape, or murder waiting to happen, while any odd business you passed on the streets had potential to be a drug den, underground casino, or human trafficking hold.</p>
<p>                Certainly, there were safer parts of the city; high-security shopping districts, world-class centres of learning, and expensive apartments in lower-crime areas.</p>
<p>                But safer didn’t equal safe.</p>
<p>                From what Marinette had gleaned from newspapers, online articles, and occasional bits of information from the locals, the Wayne family had spearheaded fundraisers for public housing to security and equipment for local schools. There were tons of projects in the works, but even with the monetary backing of world’s wealthiest, it seemed that turning Gotham around was a monumental task.</p>
<p>                Which was why, after visiting Star City and Metropolis, Gotham had been Marinette’s choice to settle in. There was a surplus of crime and enough heroes that a connection between Paris and herself weren’t likely.</p>
<p>                Serving as an additional layer of protection, Marinette redesigned her suit, allowing her to assume a new heroic persona. Preferring function to absurd capes and impractical costumes, her new look took inspiration from her one-time Lady Noire regalia; black bodysuit, red stitching in place of the green, and a bun styled with red and black ribbons. The lack of spots had been a mutual decision between Marinette and Tikki. Seeing herself without them for the first time had been like a punch to the gut, but also a well-needed reality check. Ladybug’s story had come to an end, but Pixie’s work in Gotham had just begun.</p>
<p>                There was nothing quite like the wind’s bite while sprinting across rooftops. Each vault between buildings reminded Pixie how lucky she was to experience the world from such a unique perspective.</p>
<p>                Unlike Paris, the architecture of Gotham was a mixed bag of buildings. Structures condemned by the city that were left to be standing health hazards and definitely unstable for roof sprinting. There were elegant stone architecture with gothic carvings present in the preserved historic areas of the city. Layer upon layer of graffiti coating all manner of buildings all around town.</p>
<p>                Pixie had made her first appearance three weeks ago and had been out every night since trying to memorize the routes around the city.</p>
<p>                “Something smells rotten.”</p>
<p>                Glancing down to the bag she was carrying, Plagg’s ears were blown back by the wind, but his eyelids were droopy with a euphoric sigh.</p>
<p>                “Plagg, you’re supposed to stay in the bag,” she reprimanded more out of habit than actually anticipating a result. “You know we’re trying to keep a low profile.”</p>
<p>                “Can’t exactly help people if we’re keeping a low profile,” Plagg whined piteously, his little nose continuing to twitch. “Besides, I was bored. The good shows aren’t on until later.”</p>
<p>                Pixie huffed.</p>
<p>                “Plagg, we don’t have cable.”</p>
<p>                “Doesn’t make that less true! And your Netflix account is full of mushy gushy yuck. And hey, we need to go shopping again.”</p>
<p>                “How can you possibly be out of cheese?” She griped. “I bought you camembert, but I also got Havarti and string mozzarella. Are you telling me all of that’s gone?”</p>
<p>                “I polished that stuff off this afternoon.”</p>
<p>                “None of the other kwami go through food the way you do! Why did you eat so much you little glutton?”</p>
<p>                Stumbling, Pixie glowered as a rooftile clattered to the ground in the alleyway, thankfully only scattering a pair of rats plundering an overturned garbage can.</p>
<p>                “And now you’re going to make me lose my concentration and turn into a pancake.”</p>
<p>                “As if. You’ve fallen off the Eiffel Tower plenty of times without so much as a bruise. Besides, you should be thanking me for bringing some excitement to your night!”</p>
<p>                “I’m not going to the store tonight, Plagg. I can’t believe you ate all of that! It should have lasted at least another week! Did you eat my bleu cheese crumbles I bought for salad too?”</p>
<p>                “…huh. Maybe I’ll eat them later, but I still want camembert,” Plagg grunted before disappearing back into the duffel she was lugging.</p>
<p>                Pixie resolved to make a trip to the local grocer in the morning. Plagg was a soft-spot for her and doing something as inconsequential as buying his favorite cheese helped her feel better.</p>
<p>                The bright lights of the busier districts transformed into a grungier, dilapidated neighborhood that had graffiti everywhere, bars on all the rundown businesses windows, and the gangsters roaming the streets like packs of hungry wolves.</p>
<p>                Luck had been on her side so far and she hadn’t had a run-in with Batman or any of his known associates. For her own good, Pixie wanted to build a reputation that would promote positive relations between her and the local King Vigilante <em>before</em> she inevitably encountered the man.</p>
<p>                Spotting erratic movement below, she saw an older woman in a ratty cardigan running toward one of the busier side-streets. A man was pounding the pavement behind her, one hand reaching toward the back of his jeans—</p>
<p>                Marinette swung her yoyo and launched herself forward.</p>
<p>                With a sickening crunch, Pixie’s boots collided with the thug with a loud crunch, sending him careening into a set of garbage cans. Before he could recover, she kicked the handgun aside and expertly trussed the man up like a turkey.</p>
<p>                “Fuckin’ bitch! Who the hell do you think you are?!”</p>
<p>                “Yeah, I’m rather new in town.” Pixie tugged a roll of duct tape out of her bag. “But I didn’t need a bat-suit to kick your ass, did I?”</p>
<p>                Cheerfully slapping a strip of tape over the mugger’s mouth, she dragged the man out of the alley and secured him to a street light. Some people ignored her, while a few token gawkers paused to snap photographs and exchange whispers.</p>
<p>                “Who are you?”</p>
<p>                A feminine voice called from the side, holding her phone up, and radiating pure excitement. The earnest teen reminded her so much of Alya that Pixie had to avert her gaze.</p>
<p>                “Pixie,” she called out, taking care to enunciate with care to mask her accent. “I’m Pixie. If one of you could call the police, that would be great. Thanks!”</p>
<p>                Zipping back to the alley, Marinette gingerly scooped up the firearm and swung herself back up to the rooftops. Slipping the handgun into her bag, Marinette felt Plagg’s destructive energy neatly remove the weapon from existence. A more efficient solution than leaving it for potentially dirty cops or the next criminal to find it.</p>
<p>                Pixie stopped to chase off some teenage vandals before pausing near a homeless encampment she discovered on her second night of exploration. Nearly a dozen oil drums were lit, while fires were fed with trash collected from the streets. Figures were huddled together in clusters around the flames, exchanging words in hushed whispers. Makeshift tents and sleeping bags were in scattered groups, a few bodies were curled up under rags already bedded down for the night.</p>
<p>                Approaching slowly, Pixie deliberately knocked a few pebbles and kicked an aluminum can to prevent startling anyone unduly. The unkempt tribe of people watched her approach from skeletal eye sockets like dogs preparing themselves for a harsh kick. Still, Pixie noted one or two familiar faces glancing her way that seemed vaguely expectant. It was a small thing, but a positive shift in how these people saw her.</p>
<p>                Feeling satisfied by evidence of progress, Pixie lifted out some parcels of homemade bread that she had prepared. Wary looks were exchanged along with distrustful murmurs, but they were quickly quieted by the few that recognized her.</p>
<p>                A man with hair lightly flecked with silver, wearing a ragged military coat and a beard stepped forward.</p>
<p>                “It’s okay. She’s clean.” The man lifted a hand up and showed a dark knitted mitten that Pixie recognized as her own work. “She brought food and some supplies. No strings attached.”</p>
<p>                The man who vouched for her obviously carried weight; like a dam breaking, Pixie was approached all at once by eager hands all but tearing the bread from her hands. From her bag, she passed out a dozen scarves and watched the community dole them out to the individuals that needed them the most. Few were brave enough to address her directly, but Pixie witnessed a few teary eyes and a few tentative waves from a few children. A woman covered in grime asked if she would be coming back and Pixie promised she would return with hats and more bread in a few days.</p>
<p>                “We appreciate this, kid.” The man in the camo jacket said around a mouthful of bread. “If I’m not here and you actually come back again, tell ‘em Dell sent you.”</p>
<p>                “I’ll do that, Dell” Pixie promised the man in front of her. “Does anyone want me to walk them to a shelter?”</p>
<p>                “No.” There was a hardness, maybe even dogged stubbornness in the lines of the man’s jaw, the friendliness disappearing beneath a harsh frost. “No one here will go to one of <em>them</em> places. You actually seem like you’re alright, don’t spoil it. If we wanted to go, we’d go.”</p>
<p>                  Pixie deflated as the man stomped away, knowing her progress had taken a backslide somehow. Reaching out was hard, but earning trust wasn’t meant to be easy. Resolved to not bring up shelters until she had solidified her relationship with this group, Pixie turned to leave.</p>
<p>                “Hey,” a raspy voice called out, voice pitched to be barely audible.</p>
<p>                Off to her left, a teen sporting a blackeye and a split lip beckoned her to where he was resting against a dumpster; Marinette might have hesitated if not for the snuffling from a small boy clinging to the teen like a barnacle.</p>
<p>                “Do you need something?” Pixie asked, not bothering to conceal her concern for the quietly sobbing child. “I try to bring things. It isn’t much, but I like to help out.”</p>
<p>                “Nah, not that. Got our share of your bread.”</p>
<p>                The boy pointed a shaking hand to backpack that had a wedge of her homemade bread sitting on. A flicker of dismay hit her as she noticed the tremor in the boy’s fingers and the way he tugged on a strand of his hair. Drug withdrawal symptoms were getting easier her to spot; apparently the local mob and some of Scarecrow’s villains were known to “donate” free samples to children as young as ten just to build up clientele. This guy was her age and already had the odds stacked against him. The injustice of the situation grated on Pixie and fueled that drive to do <em>something</em> to help.</p>
<p>                “A week ago, my buddy said you helped him after he got jumped. Said a new vigilante going by Pixie took down the guys. Saved his life.”</p>
<p>                There would have been a day that someone witnessing her abilities would have sent Marinette into a tizzy. Except Meta-humans and heroes with all sorts of powers had become common enough that being capable of amazing feats provided a camouflage for Pixie’s exploits.</p>
<p>                “I can help sometimes,” she shrugged, taking care to appear nonchalant. “Depends on what you need.”</p>
<p>                “Our old man has been living in a bottle for as long as I can remember. Early this morning, he busted my face, which is nothing new, but he did a number on the kid’s arm. I ain’t got the money to take him to a doctor. And if we do go, CPS will separate us and dump us into the fucking system again.”</p>
<p>                Swallowing the lump in her throat, Pixie smiled crookedly as she dropped to her knees in an effort to appear non-threatening. The boy had to be three, maybe four, with a face flushed from crying and drying snot sticking unattractively to puffy cheeks.</p>
<p>                “Hey there. You want to tell me your name?”</p>
<p>                The boy vigorously shook his head from side to side.</p>
<p>                “That’s alright,” she soothed gently. “I’m Pixie. I understand your arm hurts.”</p>
<p>                The boy sucked his lip in, but his head bobbed up and down vigorously.</p>
<p>                “I need to be able to see it. Can you?”</p>
<p>                The older boy worked quickly to remove an old trenchcoat that had been thrown over his brother like an old blanket. Pixie said nothing about the ill-fitting pants or the stain covered t-shirt.</p>
<p>                Pixie had seen a lot of carnage in Paris while akumas rampaged the streets. Targeted cruelty toward someone helpless was something Marinette had never gotten used to.</p>
<p>                The boy’s arm was mangled. Plastic wrap and rags hung limply from the boy’s misshapen limb, but did little aside from contain the blood that was continuing to seep from where the humerus bone was poking outside the boy’s arm.</p>
<p>                For a second, Pixie wanted to lay into the boy’s brother. Not taking the boy to the hospital was beyond foolish, beyond selfish. Infection was a given and going without treatment would likely lead to amputation or loss of function. The tot was in unquestionable agony, but instead of finding a fix for that pain and—</p>
<p>                They were afraid to be separated. It was stupid, but love made people do stupid things.</p>
<p>                “Can you fix it?”</p>
<p>                The question sounded like an accusation laced with desperation, but Marinette had learned quickly not to take initial impressions at face value in Gotham.</p>
<p>                Could she? There was an abundance of misfortune hanging around the pair. More than enough for this.</p>
<p>                Strictly speaking, Pixie didn’t have healing powers, but she had creation powers which enabled her to transform negative energy, which could be used to restore damage. According to Tikki, the evolution of her abilities had only happened with two previous holders, but none manifested as Marinette’s had. It was a conundrum that could only be solved with a little trial and error.  </p>
<p>                “I think so. Just try to keep still, okay?”</p>
<p>                The youngster whimpered pitifully and the reddened eyes leaked a few more tears, but his older brother began whispering in the boy’s ears and stroking his forehead.</p>
<p>                “Do it,” the teen said. “But no funny business.”</p>
<p>                The threat was unnecessary, but even coming from an underfed, scrawny kid, Marinette recognized the sincerity in the tone. Rather than offended, Marinette felt fondness at witnessing the obvious bond between the siblings.</p>
<p>                Fishing into her duffle, Pixie pulled out one of the two knitted bears she had made for just-in-case moments. The appearance of the stuffed animal from her bag drew the boy’s attention, just as she’d hoped.</p>
<p>                “Tell you what,” she extended the bear, grinning as the boy’s eyes looked ready to pop out of his head from excitement. “You can hold this guy. I promise that if you do, you won’t feel a thing while I’m fixing your arm.”</p>
<p>                For a second, Pixie was worried the kid was going to start crying again, but the kids good arm snatched the bear up like he was afraid it was going to disappear, squeezing his new companion with a desperate hug.</p>
<p>                “I’m Jack.” The words like an offering as he buried his dirty face in the knitted plush.</p>
<p>                “Nice to meet you, buddy,” Pixie grinned broadly as she slowly extended a gloved palm toward the injured side. “I have to touch you, but I promise it shouldn’t hurt much.”</p>
<p>                To Jack’s credit, he never tried to pull his arm away—though pain tolerance was likely a survival requirement for the urchins and abuse victims that wandered Gotham’s streets.</p>
<p>                Unlike the Miraculous Cure, the act of converting energy and restoring the hurt tissue around the boy required little effort and no incantation. With only a slight pinkish glow that lasted for all of a second, the arm restored itself.</p>
<p>                “There we go,” Marinette murmured cheerfully for the sake of little Jack. “Does that feel better?”</p>
<p>                Jack looked dubiously at his arm, the limp rags falling away as he flexed the limb.</p>
<p>                “Doesn’t hurt,” he squeaked, eyes shining bright. “Doesn’t hurt no more.”</p>
<p>                “Awesome,” Pixie ruffled the boy’s mop of greasy brown curls, feeling flattered by the awe in those eyes instead of the fear. “And that bear belongs to you now.”</p>
<p>                “For me?”</p>
<p>                The disbelief and awe for something as simple as a knitted bear made the knot well in Pixie’s throat again.</p>
<p>                “For you,” Marinette agreed solemnly. “That fellow you’re holding needs someone to take care of him. You up to it?”</p>
<p>                Jack squinted at her, arms clutching the stuffed animal dumbfoundedly before tearing up again and hiding his face in the bear.</p>
<p>                “You ain’t so bad for a vigilante.”</p>
<p>                The older boy draped the old coat around little Jack’s shoulders again, looking anywhere but in Pixie’s direction.</p>
<p>                “Hold on, take this too,” Marinette snagged a pair of cookies from Tikki’s stash and pressed them into the older boy’s hand. “For Jack. Blood loss is hard on kids. He needs to eat.”</p>
<p>                There was a long moment before the older boy nodded once.</p>
<p>                “Fine. I’ll take the cookies. I guess I should say thanks…so thanks.”</p>
<p>                “Your welcome.” She leaned forward and seized the teen’s arm in a bruising grip. The teen jerked backward, spooked, but Pixie kept her grip firm and her blue eyes burned into him. “Next time that happens, you take him to the hospital though. You got lucky this time, don’t expect to be so fortunate in the future. Put him before yourself.”</p>
<p>                For the first time, the older boy looked remorseful, though his pinched lips prevented anything from slipping out.</p>
<p>                “Goodbye Jack, you take care of the bear, okay?”</p>
<p>                “Okay,” the boy whispered as he leaned against a backpack like a pillow, cuddled up against the night’s chill. “Bye Pixie.”</p>
<p>                Walking away from a child sleeping on the street was hard, but she was just at the entrance to the alley when a voice called out.</p>
<p>                “Why are you doing this? What’s your angle?”</p>
<p>                Shrugging, she turned to where Dell was smoking a cigarette, eyeing her intently.</p>
<p>                “Somebody needs to do something,” she shrugged. “May as well be me.”</p>
<p>                “Hey kid.”</p>
<p>                She paused, glancing over her shoulder.</p>
<p>                “PD is trying to keep it quiet, but Joker busted out of Arkham a few days ago. You’re too young to tangle with a twisted fuck like that. Stay away and let the Bat handle him.”</p>
<p>                Taking the advice at face value, Pixie nodded curtly before yo-yoing away.</p>
<p>                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
<p>                When Marinette became Ladybug, it had felt like an obligation. A temporary blip in her hectic life that would disappear when she <em>won.</em> If defeating a supervillain had been as difficult as the latest Mecha Strike game, that could have been reality.</p>
<p>                Instead, Hawkmoth arrived and forced Marinette to re-evaluate her priorities and push her personal goals to the backburner. </p>
<p>                Balancing her responsibilities felt like she was constantly on a tightrope without a safety net. Perhaps all the pressure was why Marinette never recognized the changes in herself until after Agreste was jailed and preparing to go to trial.</p>
<p>                While Paris celebrated freedom after three emotionally, crippling years, Marinette faced an unwelcome realization. Being around the people she was supposed to be friends with made her skin crawl. Listening to them gush over a boy’s cute smile, what shade of lipstick complimented their skin better, or what the next school dance theme should be drew out nothing but false responses and aversion. As a consequence of daily heroics, Marinette had become an adept liar and unfortunately her relationship with her friends, but primarily her parents, had suffered. Stilted conversations with her father and expressions of disappointment, that her mother wasn’t quite quick enough to conceal, left Marinette grieving the relationship they’d had.</p>
<p>                It had been Chat Noir’s fate that pushed Marinette over the edge.</p>
<p>                Finding out that it had been Gabriel and Nathalie behind the terrorism of Paris had gutted Chat Noir and exposed his identity to Ladybug. Learning that Emilie was the motive was heartbreaking enough, but Gabriel telling his son that it was Emilie’s obsession with the peacock miraculous that lead to her condition…</p>
<p>                Adrien had always been sensitive and history consistently demonstrated a clear lack of emotional maturity and understanding. Marinette blamed herself for never seeing how fake Adrien Agreste was…or how real Chat Noir had been.</p>
<p>                Romantic sentiments toward Adrien had died two years ago with Lila, but her care for Adrien and Chat remained faithfully strong. Still, she’d hesitated to share her identity with him. Adrien had enough to deal with without learning her identity on top of that. Marinette had been sure it could wait.</p>
<p>                Marinette had stuck to Adrien like glue. When they returned to school, she kept reporters at bay. If kids at school became too nosy, Marinette shielded her friend from the fallout. Alya, Nino, and herself spent most of their free time keeping Adrien company. If Adrien seemed unusually stoic and withdrawn, who could blame him?</p>
<p>                After a day spent in the courtroom, listening to akuma victims tearfully testify to judge and jury, Adrien accompanied Marinette home; the pair shared a meal, watched a movie, and Adrien left with his bodyguard, after pressing a kiss to her cheek, promising to see her later.  </p>
<p>                Marinette woke the next day wholly unprepared: Chat Noir broke into the detention center and killed Gabriel Agreste.  </p>
<p>                Marinette wished she could forget. Finding Adrien at the Eiffel Tower raving to Plagg in broken sentences. The betrayal in Adrien’s face when Plagg repudiated him. The guilt when Ladybug surrendered her partner into police custody.</p>
<p>                None of it had been fair. They were literal children thrust into roles they hadn’t prepared for.</p>
<p>                School resumed. Life went on. But not for her. Not for Chat.</p>
<p>                Her declining tolerance for normal day-to-day life reinforced the facts that Marinette had been desperate to ignore. The day she became Ladybug, her life had changed. Not necessarily for the better, nor the worse. But dreams of becoming a household name in fashion…just weren’t as important as they used to be.</p>
<p>                Making a difference so that someone else <em>could</em> have a normal, apple-pie life.</p>
<p>                Staying in Paris was no option at all, but where to go? Preparations went quickly without akuma to stand in her way. It took time, but she came up with a list of potential cities that wouldn’t bat an eye if another hero popped up on the radar. Thanks primarily to Jagged Stone, Marinette had a healthy bank account that would get her settled into a new life. Assuming a new identity was her biggest obstacle, but thankfully Wayzz coached her with some minor adjustments from Trixx.</p>
<p>                Adrien Agreste was formally committed to a mental hospital: she visited twice. In her final appearance as Ladybug, Adrien tried to attack her and accused her of brainwashing Plagg before he was sedated by orderlies and she was asked to leave.</p>
<p>                Before leaving Paris, she visited Adrien one last time as Marinette. The orderlies had to intervene when he refused to let her leave.</p>
<p>                Stowing little beyond sewing supplies and a computer in a storage unit via portal, Marinette left her parents a note, transferred a few contacts onto a new mobile, and left Paris behind.</p>
<p>                Marinette Dupain-Cheng disappeared and Marinette Bisset came to life.</p>
<p>                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
<p>                “Almost finished!”</p>
<p>                Shoulders burning from leaning over all afternoon, Marinette refused to concede and carefully added the final stitch to her latest commission.  </p>
<p>                “I did it!”</p>
<p>                Leaping to her feet, she twirled delightedly as she stretched her arms triumphantly. Reacting to her victory cries, her two biggest cheerleaders zoomed into her line-of-sight to look over the completed design.</p>
<p>                “Ooh, just look at how exquisite that bodice looks!” Duusu chirped cheerfully, the blue feathers fanning out wildly before wilting slightly. “I wish you were keeping this one! You would look so pretty in it!”</p>
<p>                “The materials were certainly spared no expense,” Tikki squeaked, poking at one of the hundreds of crystals Marinette had hand-sewn into the skirt. “How much are they paying you for this?”</p>
<p>                “A lot,” Marinette admitted with a slight grin. “Our client is an upcoming actress from Hong Kong. Apparently, they saw Clara Nightingale’s dress that I designed for that awards show in London. They wanted a dress that will make a statement.”</p>
<p>                “They will look just like a princess!” Duusu puffed up, twirling in a dizzying circle. “How incredible! They’ll request you again too, Marinette! I just know it!”</p>
<p>                “I would never have succeeded without all of your help,” Marinette giggled, shooing the pair off.</p>
<p>                Laying the garment carefully on her sewing table, Marinette swallowed a yawn, rubbing the back of her eyes. She needed to make more bread, one loaf for her and the rest for the homeless group she’d taken on. Glancing balefully at three completed hats, she resolved to finish another two before she went to bed.</p>
<p>                The apartment was a single bedroom, a small bathroom, and a tinier kitchen. The neighborhood wasn’t in the best area, but it was affordable and miraculously free of pests. Her landlord was a shifty sort that she couldn’t say she trust, but he didn’t question a sixteen-year old living alone. The deciding factor for this location was the washer/dryer unit that was uncommon to find in affordable Gotham apartments. A sixteen-year old girl, going to a laundromat on her own, wouldn’t end well, even with powers as a fall-back.</p>
<p>                The living room was a television on the wall and several folding tables for her sewing machine, projects, and laptop. A rocking chair was her only place to sit aside from the sewing chair on the back table.</p>
<p>                Dropping into her rocking chair, Marinette picked up her sewing needles, basket of yarn, and got to work while Plagg watched a cooking show in the background.  </p>
<p>                “Marinette,” Tikki popped into view.</p>
<p>                “Hmm.”</p>
<p>                “It’s almost August now. I know we all agreed you would get settled, but I think we better figure out where you should go to school this fall. You still have two more years to complete.”</p>
<p>                It was a topic Tikki felt strongly about, that Marinette dreaded. Being stuck with a bunch of kids that didn’t have an inkling what hardship really was. Maybe she wasn’t suitable company out of the mask anymore.  </p>
<p>                She wouldn’t lie. Not anymore. Especially not to Tikki.</p>
<p>                “I know that I do. I’ll get to it, Tikki. I will. I just…it’s a lot, you know.”</p>
<p>                “I know, Marinette.” Marinette’s breath stuttered as Tikki nuzzled her cheek. “Things have been rough lately. But you need to stop for a while. You know that I think bringing supplies to those people is wonderful, but you have to take care of yourself too.”</p>
<p>                “I know you’re right, Tikki,” Marinette smiled hollowly. “I know that I keep pushing, I’ve always kind of been the type to take on too much.”</p>
<p>                “I know, Marinette, but maybe we should take some time to get to know Gotham a little more. Maybe we could go exploring tomorrow. Check out the fabric stores, maybe visit a park—"</p>
<p>                “Buy more cheese!” Plagg chimed.</p>
<p>                “Shut UP,” Tikki growled.</p>
<p>                “Alright,” Marinette took a deep breath, feeling more like herself for the first time in a long while. “Tomorrow we explore from the ground instead of the roof.”</p>
<p>               </p>
<p>               </p>
<p>               </p>
<p>                 </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Aspirations and Ominous Tidings</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>There is some potentially triggering violence in the latter part of this chapter.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Call her nocturnal, but waking up early was highly overrated. For the first time since moving to Gotham, she was roused from slumber by an alarm on her cell phone. Naturally, silenced her alarm, rolled over, and tried to drift back to sleep.</p>
<p>                A kwami paw prodded her cheek.</p>
<p>                “Marinette, it’s time to get up. You set your alarm so you could go out today, remember?”</p>
<p>                Swatting at the area in front of her nose, Marinette groaned into her pillow. Sleep was highly underrated and Gotham would still be there in an hour. Or two.</p>
<p>                “Tikki, go back to bed. It’s too early to wake up.”</p>
<p>                At least someone agreed with her.</p>
<p>                Recognizing the sound of Tikki’s disgruntled huff, but not hearing anything else, Marinette felt it was safe to doze—only to unleash an unholy yowl as water was poured over her head.</p>
<p>                “What the heck?!”</p>
<p>                Tumbling out of bed, Marinette just managed to avoid smashing her face into the wall, but didn’t avoid stubbing her toes on the oak bedframe.</p>
<p>                “Ouch, ouch, ouch!” Marinette screeched, nearly squishing Plagg who was hissing violently in midair as he shook water off his body. “Tikki, how could you?!”</p>
<p>                “You could have just gotten up instead of ignoring your alarm.” Tikki, still holding an empty cup, gleefully dodged a swipe from Plagg’s claws.</p>
<p>                “Ugh! Cruel and unusual punishment!”</p>
<p>                Hopping on one foot, Marinette swore as her other bodily functions kicked into gear and she sprinted for the bathroom. Hurt toes aside, her sour mood was quick to dissipate as her muscles relaxed in the shower. At least until the water went from pleasantly warm to frigid in seconds.</p>
<p>                “Gah! Freezing!”</p>
<p>                “Oh no, Marinette, was it the water again?”</p>
<p>                Tikki may have sounded sympathetic, but Marinette wasn’t buying it. Tikki was as sweet as sugar <em>unless</em> she lost her patience and Marinette seemed to have a knack for pushing the kwami’s buttons.</p>
<p>                “Yes!” Marinette choked, frantically rinsing the last of the soap out of her hair and practically leaping out of the shower and into the oversized towel she had placed on the sink. “Freezing! Like little drops of ice!”</p>
<p>                “Here, kid,” Plagg appeared with her blow dryer at the bathroom entrance. “Dry off before you catch cold. You bugs and cold don’t mix.”</p>
<p>                Marinette accepted the dryer greatfully from the disgruntled ball of fluff, but not without giving the grumpy kwami a fond scratch.</p>
<p>                “Thank you, Plagg. I’ll make sure to pick up your cheese today too.”</p>
<p>                “Hmph,” he sniffed, already floating away. “You better.”</p>
<p>                A few minutes to dry her hair and a few extra moments to bask under the dryer’s heat boosted Marinette’s mood back into the positives. She pondered her hair in the mirror while brushing it into shiny black waves that fell to the middle of her back. Feeling in the mood to try something a bit different, Marinette styled it into a crown braid with a strip of pink ribbon threaded into the weave.</p>
<p>                For the first time in almost a year, she balefully considered her untouched make-up kit sitting innocuously on the sink. Prolonged exposure to Tikki’s miraculous had the pleasant side-effect that eliminated issues with acne that most teens suffered, but she still looked rather pale. Nothing to cover up, nobody to impress, and to hell with anyone that judged her for going without. Nodding to herself, she applied basic lip balm and that was that.</p>
<p>                Gotham was comfortably warm at this time of year, enabling Marinette to wear anything without worrying about a chill during the day. Settling on vibrant cerulean and white Bohemian style dress with casual sandals, she put on a cheap pendant necklace to draw attention away from the thin chain with Plagg’s ring tucked beneath her dress.</p>
<p>                Perched on the nightstand next to her bed, sat the Miracle Box. Instead of the design Fu used, Marinette—with a major assist from Tikki—transformed it into a large, rectangular music box. If someone lifted the carved lid, the notes of Blue Danube would play, while the underside housed hidden compartments holding the miraculous.</p>
<p>                Marinette had grown to love the kwamis in the short time she had been their caretaker. While she could never resent the imposition on her life—not without lying to herself—Marinette often felt conflicted when the kwamis addressed her as Guardian.</p>
<p>                Because honestly, why her? Fu had been Guardian for longer than a lifetime, but had the old man prepared in any way? Made a contingency plan? Nope. If Hawkmoth hadn’t shown up, what would have happened to the kwamis when Fu kicked the bucket? Marinette understood paranoia, but so many of Master Fu’s actions seemed misguided.</p>
<p>                The term guardian implied wisdom, maturity, and experience. Marinette arguably qualified under each banner due to her life experiences, but it didn’t feel right to her. Logically, if she didn’t believe Master Fu had good judgment, most of his advice as a Guardian was moot.</p>
<p>                Maybe that was for the best. Tradition was overrated anyway: Marinette would do things her own way. And she would care for the kwami in her own way.</p>
<p>                The Miraculous Box hummed under her hands, reassuring her that all within were resting and alright.      </p>
<p>                Kwami-check complete for the morning, Marinette wandered out to check her email. Two orders for items she had on hand and another personalized commission that Marinette spent a few minutes replying to with a fee list that Duusu assisted her in creating. Time spent with Nathalie had allowed the cheery kwami to pick up some tips that proved invaluable to helping Marinette create a price guide for private commissions.</p>
<p>                “Plagg, Tikki,” Marinette called, snapping up a navy messenger style purse designed to comfortably accommodate both kwami and enough snacks to transform at least three times—maybe two in Plagg’s case. “We’re out of here.”</p>
<p>                “I’m so glad we’re going out!” Tikki zoomed into view, but paused to hover hesitantly in front of her. “Marinette, I’m sorry I dumped water on you earlier. I was frustrated but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you in that way.”</p>
<p>                Grudge melting away, she nuzzled Tikki gently.</p>
<p>                “I forgive you, Tikki. You know that an army of alarm clocks can’t get me out of bed.”</p>
<p>                “I <em>do</em> know that!”</p>
<p>                “Enough with the gushy stuff,” Plagg snarked grouchily. “Let’s leave before Tikki ruins my nap <em>again</em>.”</p>
<p>                “More like <em>you</em> ruin mine with your disgusting cheese!”</p>
<p>                “Okay guys, shush!” Marinette shooed the disgruntled duo into her purse and fastened the straps. “I’ll snag us something to eat from somewhere.”</p>
<p>                On her way out, Marinette bypassed the elevator and walked toward the stairs. Being at the top of the building, her complex was considered small by Gotham standards with only ten floors. On her way down, Marinette passed a couple having a screaming match over misplaced keys and a pair of unsupervised children pushing the elevator button repeatedly. Dutifully she paused to check her mailbox and recycled the handful of fliers stuffed inside.</p>
<p>                “Miss Bisset.”</p>
<p>                Hearing her new surname, Marinette jumped slightly when she saw her landlord glowering down his hooked nose at her, the sound of a sports announcer reading off scores droning behind him.</p>
<p>                “Can I help you, Mr. Anderson?”</p>
<p>                A gnarled finger fingered the bridge of her landlord’s spectacles, the thin lips pinching together with such distaste that Marinette felt like she had been caught stealing instead of checking for mail.</p>
<p>                “Don’t forget your rent is due in three days. No excuses.”</p>
<p>                The door slammed and Marinette could only goggle in shock. What an unpleasant old man! Though that thought immediately roused her guilt. Perhaps when she paid her rent, she could bring him a peace offering? Even grouchy old codgers enjoyed cookies, right?</p>
<p>                Shaking off her encounter with the crotchety landlord, Marinette blinked as she stepped into the sunlight. It was warm without being humid, with a light breeze tickling the back of her neck pleasantly. Already, the sidewalks were busy with the bustling crowd and from where she was standing, Marinette could see an entry to the subway system jam-packed with people.</p>
<p>                A pang in her stomach forcefully reminded Marinette that she hadn’t eaten yet, which reminded her that Tikki and Plagg needed breakfast too. Tackling kwami hunger as her first priority, Marinette passed a number of restaurants and coffee shops, but nothing that looked particularly appealing. Maybe her standards were too high since she was used to some of the best that Paris had to offer. Finally, she broke down and asked a woman texting at a bus stop for a recommendation.</p>
<p>                The directions brought her to building five minutes away that was a breakfast café called The Cave.  The entrance to the restaurant had an artificial rock formation mimicking a cave entrance. The inside of the restaurant was well lit with multi-colored lights, while the ceiling had fake stalagmites and rubber bats hanging from the ceiling. Somewhat overwhelmed, but incredibly delighted by the menu featuring Gotham’s vigilantes, Marinette ordered Red Robin crepes with whipped cream and strawberries formed in the vigilante’s symbol. A side-order of cheese and cookies came shaped like bats, which she immediately slipped to eager kwami paws.</p>
<p>                As she nibbled on the surprisingly yummy crepes, Marinette struggled to come up with ideas for her day. If she were to go out as Pixie, she had any number of ideas for what she could be doing.</p>
<p>                What had she done before? Movie theatre? Nope. If she wanted to see something, she would pay to stream it another time. Stalk a cute boy? What a pathetic waste of time that used to be. Shopping? If she wanted clothes, she made them herself. Furniture? She had already purchased the basics, spending the most on a smart tv that Plagg and Tikki watched more than she did.  </p>
<p>                What was she going to do? What <em>could</em> she do that wouldn’t drive her nuts?</p>
<p>                It was official, she may be able to design clothes, but her creativity when it came to her personal life was nil.</p>
<p>                On the bright side, her breakfast was delicious.</p>
<p>                Back outside the restaurant, Marinette took a deep breath and just started walking. The eclectic personalities of her new city were on display; curiosity shoppes featuring crystal balls and elaborate scarves, toy stores jam packed with children and their summer-harried parents, and a number of beauty parlours. Passing a shoe store that <em>almost</em> snagged her interest, Marinette crossed an intersection with her fellow pedestrians, just as her natural clumsiness kicked in as she tripped on air—</p>
<p>                Marinette collided with a tall man in a smart suit who sneered at her.</p>
<p>                “Watch where you going, damn kid.”</p>
<p>                Aghast at the verbal tongue lashing, Marinette shook her head before faltering mid-step and gaping. Across an extravagant concrete courtyard, a building styled with Grecian columns and Gothic stones figures crawling from the foundations to the rooftops of the imposing architectural wonder. An elaborate fountain sat centre of a massive courtyard filled with thriving planters of colorful blooms, statues, and an imposing marble staircase.</p>
<p>                A brass plated sign boldly declared the building to be Gotham Grand Theatre of the Arts.</p>
<p>                Before she registered the action, Marinette’s feet had carried her nearly halfway to the building. Before she knew it, she was slightly winded and gawping up at gargoyles grinning wickedly from above.</p>
<p>                “Tour?”</p>
<p>                “Huh?”</p>
<p>                At the doorway, a smartly dressed man with gelled hair and a put-upon expression looked at her with a quirked brow.</p>
<p>                “Miss, are you here for the afternoon tour?”</p>
<p>                Marinette straightened. Now <em>this</em> was the sort of luck that she could get behind.</p>
<p>                “What time does it start? I’m not late, am I? Do I need to pay somewhere??”</p>
<p>                Did it count as late if she hadn’t known about this place or the tour prior to attending? Nevermind that, she absolutely had to get in there and look around! It was appalling enough that she hadn’t thought to bring her sketchbook.</p>
<p>                The doorman’s expression softened and he shook his head almost fondly.</p>
<p>                “No cost, Miss. The tour should be starting promptly though so I would hurry, if you don’t want to be late.”</p>
<p>                Not needing to be told twice, Marinette thanked the man profusely, only to be ushered inside with a dismissive wave. There were about twenty people gathered inside, most of them taking pictures of the cathedral style decor. Marinette stood off to the side, riveted by the vaulted ceilings and stained-glass windows.</p>
<p>                For the next half-hour, she toured the playhouse and snapped photographs on her phone for sketching reference. The building lacked the ancient lifespan of many European sites, but the building nevertheless reflected a degree of craftmanship that Marinette found uniquely inspiring.</p>
<p>                “I ask that you keep your voices down, we will be taking a look into a room actively used by our incredible design team. As an institution, we are pleased to allow the public a peek behind the curtain, but I must ask that you all stow cameras or cell phones before we enter, as photographs from this particular room are prohibited. Thank you, very much.”</p>
<p>                Wandering in at the rear of the pack, Marinette watched groups of individuals working; some sitting at sewing machines, some were working with fine piles of cloth stitching by hand, and a few were huddled around a design board.</p>
<p>                The tour guide began to quietly explain things to the group, but overtop his hushed whispers came infuriated shouting.</p>
<p>                “What kind of joke is this? Are they out of their fucking minds?”</p>
<p>                A frighteningly tall woman with fiery red curls charged out of an office space, with a pair of men trailed with clipboards as she raged like a lion.</p>
<p>                “What is this shit? Whose idea was it to have a junior design contest? Give me a fucking break! Eddie, where is my phone?”</p>
<p>                “Right here, Alice!” A curly haired man sporting a mustache that made him look like a cartoon character held out a phone. “But maybe you shouldn’t get yourself worked up yet. The contest still has almost six weeks before entries are due. Besides, some of them may surprise you…”</p>
<p>                “If some snivelling high-school brat were capable of designing something of that level of quality, I wouldn’t have this job. Now, get me the number for the imbecile that came up with this farce.”</p>
<p>                Immediately, the tour guide began murmuring apologies and herding the crowd out the doors.</p>
<p>                Marinette interrupted the tour guide’s apologies.</p>
<p>                “There is a design competition?”</p>
<p>                Appearing somewhat discomfited, the woman wrung her hands nervously. “Quite. This winter, the theatre will be running the ballet, Giselle. Any high school student in Gotham may submit a costume by September 1<sup>st</sup>. The award is a scholarship toward university and an internship next summer with our world-renowned designer, Alice Lennox.”</p>
<p>                “That unpleasant woman back there?” An older tourist asked, voice dripping disapproval.</p>
<p>                Having grown up around parents that accommodated all manner of temperaments, Marinette recognized that fake customer-service smile a mile away. “Ms. Lennox has experienced some trying difficulties in her personal life recently. But I can assure all of you that Ms. Lennox is very enthusiastic to showcase aspiring Gotham talent <em>and</em> looks forward to taking the winner under her wing.”</p>
<p>                The tour continued, but Marinette was barely paying any attention. Instead, she was googling the particulars of Alice Lennox and the design contest. Alice <em>was</em> a household name in the realm of fashion. But rather than expertise in everyday apparel, the woman was a trailblazer in haute couture and the realm of costume design for Broadway and Hollywood. Labelled a tyrant, her creations nevertheless won her countless accolades.</p>
<p>                Despite designing Jagged Stone’s stage apparel for his latest tour, Marinette had never considered switching focus to costume design. Still, the idea tugged at her and she felt extremely enthusiastic to experiment with the prospect.</p>
<p>                A summer internship for the following year would give Marinette some exposure to what costume designing was like. Certainly, enough of an opportunity to figure out whether or not costume design would hold her interest.</p>
<p>                Of course, she had to win first.  </p>
<p>                Now that the contest had presented itself, Marinette found herself becoming obsessed with the idea. It was something different, something challenging, and maybe, just maybe exactly what she needed.</p>
<p>                A change of focus!</p>
<p>                “This concludes the official tour. There are a limited number of tickets available for shows next week if any of you are interested, otherwise—"</p>
<p>                Marinette blinked as she realized that they’d somehow ended up back at the front of the theatre while she was preoccupied with her delusions of grandeur. Or maybe not so delusional—losing wasn’t something she dealt with very well.</p>
<p>                Overcome with the need to get her hands on some fabrics and start comparing swatches, Marinette giddily shoved her phone back into her purse.</p>
<p>                “Sorry, Igottago. Thanksforthetour! BYE!!”</p>
<p>                Running like the devil was on her heels, Marinette whooped as she booked it past the startled doorman, back across the courtyard, and down the street. For the first time in months, everything felt impossibly lighter: Marinette was looking forward to tomorrow!</p>
<p>                Slowing to a fast walk, Marinette’s designer brain took control as mind started flashing through dozens of potential silhouettes before a stray thought tickled her. Similar to a superhero suit, a dancer’s costume <em>required</em> the ability to move unimpeded. That detail, is what Marinette knew could set her apart in craftmanship from other designers. Function and the ability to look incredible at the same time.</p>
<p>                And just maybe her experience creating stage clothes for Jagged and Nightingale had come in handy for this little project. Marinette had been forced to make adjustments to her designs after seeing how the fabrics worked under special-effects lighting and how certain embellishments worked better from a distance than others.</p>
<p>                Maybe she wasn’t completely screwed after all.  </p>
<p>                Staring at the handle of the local fabric store, Marinette yanked it open viciously and stalked in like it was an akuma she was about to pulverize. Thankfully—for their sake—the store was relatively empty; Marinette was able to raid the sequins, lace, and beads in peace. Coming away with a mountain of swatches and samples, Marinette still ended up second-guessing herself and going back for synthetic whale bone, steel, and a few specialized instruments for designing corsets.</p>
<p>                Never mind. She was screwed. Why did she do these things to herself?!</p>
<p>                No, no, no. She could do this. Would do this. So what if some of this was new? She totally had this. Yessir, everything would be just fine.</p>
<p>                Lost in a tantalizing argument with herself, Marinette somehow returned to her apartment to drop off her supplies and popped into the local market for necessities that had to last at least a week. With some required basics and a basketful of cheese that earned her a few pointed questions from nosy shoppers, Marinette made it back to her apartment.</p>
<p>                “Ugh, finally.”</p>
<p>                Plagg reappeared with one of Marinette’s dirty socks, scooped up one of the wheels of camembert before Marinette could put it away, and zoomed toward the television set with a high-pitched giggle.</p>
<p>                “Ugh! Is he the reason I can never find my socks anymore?”</p>
<p>                There had been a disturbing number of unmatched in her laundry over the last week.</p>
<p>                “That’s does sound like him,” Tikki chirped. “Though he wouldn’t hide them after he used them so…I’m not really sure why they would disappear.”</p>
<p>                That was a line of thinking Marinette definitely didn’t want to explore.</p>
<p>                “Here Tikki, hold still.”</p>
<p>                Marinette snagged a damp cloth and brushed cookie crumbs off her kwami’s face.</p>
<p>                “Thank you, Marinette!”</p>
<p>                “Tikki, get your Bug and come here! Quick!”</p>
<p>                When you spend time with someone, you learn when react with a bit of urgency.</p>
<p>                Jovial, laid-back Plagg sounded downright furious: Marinette ran.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  </p>
<p>                “You know, it makes a guy curious. Every few years, a new Robin just pops out of the ground like a weed!”</p>
<p>                The Joker’s hand gripping his jaw is lean, but cruelly strong as the fingernails pinched his skin. Robin is restrained by manacles bolted into a wall above his head and chains securing his ankles. Aside from his domino mask, Damian has been stripped completely bare save for the formfitting boxers he wore underneath his suit.</p>
<p>                “Batman is more like me than he realizes, but I’ve never quite understood that sidekick schtick he has going on.” Joker’s hands relaxed before tugging painfully into his hair and jerking his chin up and moving so they were nose to nose. “I tried that thing, but Harley became so boring after a few years. Maybe that’s why Batman upgrades models when he gets bored with you.”</p>
<p>                Seizing the opportunity, Robin headbutts the villain with as much strength as he can muster. To his joy, the Joker rears back with blood spilling down his nose, but his satisfaction is short-lived when the Joker giggled menacingly, blood continuing to trickle over the clown make-up in oozing red drips.</p>
<p>                Robin’s head snaps back as a fist makes contact with his cheek. Blows peppered his torso, making it difficult to breathe, but he sinks his teeth into his lip to keep from crying out. The Joker would never, <em>ever</em> have the privilege of making him scream.</p>
<p>                Above his head, the single lightbulb flickered and the blows stopped, but the pressure on his chest increased as fingers dug into his flesh painfully.</p>
<p>                “Now look what you made me do,” the Joker tutted, the pressure intensifying until Damian had to suck in a breath when his eyes spotted from the pain. “Looks like I broke a couple ribs. Tough luck, kid.”</p>
<p>                A tap toward the door to his makeshift cell opened and a snickering man with paint covering his face peered in.</p>
<p>                “Boss, we gave some newscaster a lift, like you said.”</p>
<p>                “Keeping the public informed is our civic duty.” Joker nodded seriously, and beckoned toward the doorway where man holding a news camera and a woman holding a microphone were ushered in at gunpoint. The Joker’s eyes gleamed as he offered a jaunty wave to the petrified pair.</p>
<p>                “I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but, I’m pretty sure we only need a cameraman since I’m quite the public speaker,” the Joker grinned as he wiped the blood dripping from his nose on his sleeve and approached the shaking duo.</p>
<p>                “Poor thing is trembling. She must be cold,” the Joker cooed into the woman’s ear, casually draping an arm around her shoulder and steering her over to stand next to Robin.</p>
<p>                The woman began shaking even harder as she began to sob inconsolably.</p>
<p>                “Let me just give you a hug. I promise you’ll never feel cold again!”</p>
<p>                The woman flailed like an animal caught in a trap, but the Joker’s grip tightened around the thrashing female. It was only minutes, but Damian was flooded with a staggering amount of loathing for the Joker, a man who mocked his victim with a cheerful lullaby as he suffocated her.</p>
<p>                The corpse fell to the ground, flooding the room with the scent of urine, while the man clutching the camera wept uncontrollably. Dead bodies were nothing new, but the way the Joker toed her corpse like the body was little more than a piece of rubbish…</p>
<p>                Then the Joker’s humor drained away as he spun.</p>
<p>                “I suggest you get your camera running Mr. Camera Man,” Joker twirled a dagger in the man’s direction like a conductor waved his baton. “Unless you want me to sing to you too! I’m more than happy to serenade you…”</p>
<p>                “I’ve got it. I’ve got it!” The man struggled red-faced in between terrified sobs with his camera equipment. “Thirty seconds! I can have it ready! Just a few seconds!”</p>
<p>                With a dismissive wave, the clown hummed a ditty and sauntered toward Robin. The villain leaned against the wall next to the unclothed Robin. The clown was close enough that Damian could see his adam’s apple move as he spoke, could imagine over a dozen different quick-kill maneuvers if he weren’t restrained in a way that prevented escape.</p>
<p>                “You know, that other Robin thought he was the quiet type, like you.” The Joker commented smoothly, with an eerie twinkle in the fathomless depths of his gaze. “Boy, did I enjoy proving him wrong. I think you and I are going to have fun getting to know each other.”</p>
<p>                A dozen different threats almost spilled from his lips, but Damian restrained himself. Whether it was his father’s moral code or his own stubbornness kicking in, he couldn’t say.</p>
<p>                How could he have allowed himself to be captured? The knot in his stomach grew and Damian performed a few grounding exercises to quiet the disturbing lack of control he felt.</p>
<p>                Involuntarily, his thoughts drifted to of Grayson’s annoying habit of dragging him on outtings and days when he helped Damian understand social protocols that had been deemed unnecessary for a life in the League. Days sparring with Todd when Damian despaired of his father’s endless lectures and disappointment. Shared coffee in the pre-dawn over a chessboard with Drake. The rare half-smiles from his father. Alfred’s unconditional acceptance that he hadn’t ever earned or deserved…</p>
<p>                “Recording in 3, 2, 1!”</p>
<p>                Damian jerked to alertness and schooled his expression. If death came for him again…fine. The Joker would get nothing from him. Damian would never allow himself to be the weak link.</p>
<p><strong>                “</strong>Helloooo, Gotham.”</p>
<p>                Like the showboat the villain was, the Joker flashed a flippant grin to the camera.</p>
<p>                “It seems that things have become a little too predictable while I was away. Bad guys do bad things, Batman and his pet police force stop them, Gotham celebrates. Like a movie with an ending everyone sees coming. Talk about boring! So… let’s shake things up a bit and give everyone in Gotham something to look forward to. But of course, we can’t have fun without my favorite playmate. Isn’t that right, Batsy.</p>
<p>                Even with the madman’s back turned, Damian’s instincts were triggered by the sudden danger radiating from the Joker.</p>
<p>                “But then, I thought, maybe Batman won’t take me seriously since I’ve been away from the court for a while. Can’t have that. So. I thought about exactly what it would take to get Batman to take me seriously.</p>
<p>                “And then it hit me! We’ve had some great fun over the years, why not revisit one of those special memories.”</p>
<p>                It took everything in him to keep still when the Joker waved the camera closer and he was put on display for all of Gotham and his family to see.</p>
<p>                “I gotta hand it to you, Batsy.” Fingernails pinched the bruise on his face, but he refused to give Joker the satisfaction of a flinch. “This one seems grumpier than the last one I spent time with. But I’m sure after some quality time together, he won’t be able to stop laughing.”</p>
<p>                “Oh. And in case anyone gets any ideas about ruining the fun between Batsy and I, well, you know what they say about squealers.”</p>
<p>                The cameraman cuts the feed and the Joker pulls a screwdriver from his coat pocket, sending a chill down Damian’s throat.</p>
<p>                “I really am looking forward to spending time together, kiddo!”</p>
<p>                Resolve settled, Damian ignored the growing disquiet in his abdomen and sucked in a breath.</p>
<p>                Joker would get <em>nothing</em> from him.</p>
<p>                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p>
<p>“We’ve received confirmation that bodies have been discovered in three locations so far around Gotham. The heads were removed and a pig’s head sewn into place and each victim appears to have been gutted.”</p>
<p>                Watching Robin stoically accepting his fate as the Joker taunted Batman riled the drive to do <em>something</em>. There was no way she could take a bystander’s seat and leave it to other vigilantes to save the day.</p>
<p>                “Tikki,” Marinette said faintly, bile building in her stomach. “We can’t let him go free. He’s sick and twisted. We have to do something.”</p>
<p>                “In order to create, sometimes we have to destroy,” Tikki said, nothing of natural optimism in her solemn tone. “People like that are dangerous and a threat to the natural order.”</p>
<p>                “Gotta agree with my Sugarcube,” Plagg stated factually before floating up to rest on Marinette’s shoulder. “But this ain’t no akuma you’re going to be tangling with kid. And he sure isn’t some street kids you can take out easy peasy. ”</p>
<p>                “I know, but that just makes this more important. That man is going to kill Robin. You could see it in his eyes…we have to help him.”</p>
<p>                “Yeah, we do,” Plagg agreed. “But I think we should work on saving the kid before tangling with that ball of nuts. Or maybe I can just cataclysm him.”</p>
<p>                “Marinette,” Tikki whispered from her other shoulder. “You know the words.”</p>
<p>                “Spots on!”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I just wanted to let everyone know that your support means the world to me. Have a great day, everyone!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Things Fu Never Taught Me</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>                It had been almost two days since the Joker’s broadcast. During that time, Marinette made little progress digging up information. It became clear to Marinette that her experience with Hawkmoth left her woefully unprepared to tangle with non-magically powered bad guys. Enhanced physical abilities didn’t get her very far in hunting down the Joker and his cronies.</p><p>                After she found Robin, Pixie could work on improving her skillset. <em>After</em>, she found him.</p><p>                In the last two days, there was an uptick in daytime sightings of vehicles associated with Batman and his group, which Pixie had also witnessed more than once as she did her own hunting for Robin. Police sirens were common enough to hear all day long, but now it felt like every street was crawling with cop cars.  </p><p>                To her frustration, the Joker’s threat proved entirely effective in deterring attention. The transient groups Pixie visited accepted her goods when she dropped Dell’s name, but were even more tight-lipped and wary than they’d been before.</p><p>                Not that she could blame people for not wanting to be strung up and mutilated by a psychopath.</p><p>                No leads and no information brought Marinette to rely on the resources she did have: kwamis.</p><p>                Swinging between rooftops and pausing every kilometer or two, Plagg sat alert on Pixie’s shoulder while Nooroo nested in the bag of scarves, hats, and bread that she never failed to hand out every time she went out.</p><p>                While the little guy did his best, Nooroo’s ability to sense emotions was hampered by the dense layers of negativity that Gotham citizens experienced at any given time. In hindsight, it made sense that Nooroo’s empathic range wasn’t that large, which explained why in a city the size of Paris, the majority of akumas appeared within a couple kilometers of the Agreste Mansion. Gotham was worse; limited range, a bombardment of emotional timebombs, and the sheer population size was like searching for a needle in haystack.</p><p>                “Anything?”</p><p>                “For the umpteenth time, he would have said something,” Plagg snapped.</p><p>                “I’m sorry, Nooroo. Plagg. I know you’d tell me if you’d found something,” Pixie exhaled apologetically, while rubbing moisture from her eyes again. The emotional toll from lack of sleep and helplessness had her spiralling into a bit of a panic. “I just…I feel like I’m failing. I know that it isn’t my fault. I know that! I can’t control what people do, but no one deserves to be treated like a pawn! People matter. <em>Robin</em> matters.” With a snap of her yo-yo, Pixie was on the ground of an alley, turning her ire on a tipped over garbage-can-rat-buffet. Picturing the Joker’s face she slammed her foot into the steel can. Rats squealed and scurried away as the garbage can itself lay in a malformed heap several buildings away. “That evil bastard is killing people and he’s loving it. You saw that video! That creep is literally ripping that poor boy apart, a boy that’s my age and…I can’t let that happen. We have to save him. If we don’t then…that sicko wins.”</p><p>                <em>I let Adrien down…but never again. </em></p><p>                Hearing a door slam nearby, Pixie made a running leap and bounded from a dumpster land back onto the rooftops and sagged against a filthy building.</p><p>                “Don’t worry, Guardian.” Nooroo fluttered out of the bag and gave her a timid nuzzle. “I’ll do everything I can to help you find Robin.”</p><p>                “Thanks, Nooroo,” Pixie stroked a gloved finger over the kwami’s head. The butterfly was a shy sweetheart that had suffered tremendously. “I know you’re doing your best. But please, just call me Pixie or my name when we’re at our apartment. I promise I’ll do everything I can do protect you, but I don’t need a silly title to look after my friends.”</p><p>                “You know, Bug,” Plagg purred into her ear. “I’m not one for gushy stuff, that’s Tikki’s angle, but you got your priorities right. You still get overexcited, you’re way too prone to self-flagellation, and you do not buy me enough cheese. But Fu lucked out when he picked you.”</p><p>                “<em>We</em> lucked out.” Nooroo commented with another soft nuzzle. “Your heart is beautiful. Tikki is so lucky to have you.”</p><p>                Pixie rubbed her eyes again, barely managing to contain a sniffle. The exhaustion was certainly doing her no favours, but she felt genuinely lighter, as if a burden had been eased somewhat.</p><p>                “Thank you both. That means more than you know.”</p><p>                “Oh!” Nooroo blurted out, his eyes rounding anxiously. “Guard—I mean, Pixie, have you tried using your lucky charm?”</p><p>                “Oh geez, why didn’t I think of that?”</p><p>                Plagg sounded so utterly disgusted that Marinette felt a bit mystified.</p><p>                “But, I’m not in a fight with an akuma?”</p><p>                “Pixie, historically, my miraculous was only used by someone with negative intentions on one prior occasion,” Nooroo explained patiently. “I’m not surprised that you didn’t consider it, but most fights that our holders partook in were in humanity’s conflicts, not with other miraculous holders.”</p><p>                Fu hadn’t delved too much into the historical use of previous miraculous holders. Really though, Fu hadn’t touched on a lot of things, but it had never occurred to Pixie that she didn’t understand the extent of her own miraculous.</p><p>                “So, you’re saying my ability can be used for more than just akuma fights?”</p><p>                That was actually incredibly good news, if she were able to decipher the clue. How exactly did these clues work anyway?</p><p>                “But how will it help us now? Joker isn’t here.”</p><p>                “Let Plagg give you a quick crash course, Bug,” Plagg smarmed as he waggled his paws in the air dramatically. “Gotta say that Fu really dropped the ball on explaining what you are actually capable of when you’re connected with your miraculous.”</p><p>                “Plagg,” Marinette fought to keep the smile out of her voice. “I wouldn’t mind letting you toot your own horn, but we’re on a bit of a time crunch.”</p><p>                “Sheesh, you bugs are always all business no pleasure,” Plagg hummed a discordant note. “But I can’t exactly fault you. Anyway, it’s like this kid. Lucky charm is an act of pure creation. Tikki is the embodiment of good fortune, so you literally are summoning an object into existence that can alter fate in a positive way—<em>if you solve the clue</em>.”</p><p>                That description felt a bit too much like fortune-telling, but that could be the source of agonizing and interrogating Tikki another day. A day when someone’s life wasn’t at stake.  </p><p>                Alright, if her goal was to defeat the Joker, a charm would be created for that. But that wasn’t really the goal. The Joker was an incidental that she definitely owed a punch in the face, but what Pixie needed was to help Robin.</p><p>                In order to do that, she needed to find him.</p><p>                “Okay.” Rubbing her hands together, Pixie sucked in a breath and crossed her fingers. “I got this. I need to find Robin before it’s too late. So, please work! Lucky charm!”</p><p>                Into her hands, a heavy, yellow book with <strong><span class="u">Phone Directory</span></strong> and the image of a clunky, old-fashioned phone that Marinette saw in period films.</p><p>                “Uh…” Marinette tilted her head. She flipped through pages of phone numbers. She shook it.</p><p>                “Is this…like pre-google?”</p><p>                Nooroo moaned, Plagg chortled, and Pixie willed herself to sink into the ground.</p><p>                “Oh man, Bug,” Plagg was absolutely howling with laughter. “I get that you grew up when cell phones were a common commodity, but I really needed a laugh. That is a telephone book. Cell phones are a fairly recent invention and there was a time that most families didn’t have easy access to the internet.”</p><p>                Yeah, she’d known that. Absolutely.</p><p>                “Okay, but I doubt we’re going to find the Joker’s phone number in this thing.”</p><p>                “Lucky charm is never that straightforward, Pixie.” Nooroo flapped his wings anxiously. “But it shouldn’t be as completely off-the-wall as some of those charms were in Paris.”</p><p>                Tapping her chin, Pixie glared at the phonebook. She couldn’t remember a scene in a movie where phonebooks stood out for any reason. Okay, so she needed to think literally. What were phone books used for anyway? Wait—</p><p>                “Guys! People don’t use phonebooks anymore. That has to be the clue! But what does it mean?!”</p><p>                “Oh, maybe a library?” Nooroo offered as he fished a chunk of dried apples from Pixie’s bag and started munching.</p><p>                Taking a second to consider the idea, Marinette shook her head and nibbled her gloved thumb as she paced back and forth, glowering at the flickering lights below.</p><p>                “Yeah, you people are glued to those phones,” Plagg yawned, while unwrapping a string cheese and scarfing it down. “Can’t be healthy.”</p><p>                People were glued to their phones in this day in age, but what happened if that wasn’t possible?</p><p>                “But what if we weren’t?”</p><p>                “Eh, not possible.”</p><p>                “Definitely possible,” Pixie disagreed, thinking back on that unpleasant dark age that she had felt insufferably miserable. “I went without my cell phone for almost a month when I lost mine. My parents wouldn’t buy me a new one and I kept thinking mine would turn up. When it didn’t I had to buy a new phone.”</p><p>                “So?” Plagg shot her an unimpressed look that she ignored.</p><p>                “So, I didn’t have a phone. Sure, my friends let me borrow their phones or I may have used my yo-yo for an emergency call or two, but not all people would be able to do that. So, if they needed to make a call, but didn’t have a phone, what would they do?”</p><p>                “Ask a friend?”</p><p>                “No, they would—hold on!” Pulling her cell out of her bag, she handed it to Nooroo. “Search for telephone booths. Gotham’s infrastructure is a crazy mix of modern and old tech. I bet you anything there is going to be functioning public phones somewhere for people to use.”</p><p>                Sprinting over rooftops, she listened to her kwami navigator.</p><p>                “If this google assistant doohickey is right, there are four public phones in a five-kilometer radius.”</p><p>                “Great job,” Marinette said proudly. “Which one is the closest?”</p><p>                “Eh, what crappy directions on this thing,” Plagg groused from next to Nooroo. “Maybe four blocks North.”</p><p>                The first phone booth was situated in a well-lit area wedged between a rundown restaurant and a nightclub, but a quick look around had Pixie feeling confident that it wasn’t the clue she was looking for. The next location was similarly disappointing, but Pixie took a few minutes to feed Tikki before transforming and racing to the next public phone.</p><p>                Dropping down to street level, an alcove away from the elements was covered with layers of graffiti, a pair of bullet holes, and an old-style phone dangling off the hook but functional. Turning away from her inspection of the public phone instructions on the wall, Marinette froze as she looked down the street toward the sign hanging outside a sealed parkade.</p><p>                Gotham City Police Impound Lot.</p><p>                It was ingenious. The van in the limited footage the news had found was being looked for, but the PD expected it to turn up abandoned in a lot somewhere. But Marinette now knew that was impossible. Because no way would someone as twisted as the Joker pass up the chance to make the police force out to be a laughing stock. What better <em>joke</em> than hiding in the enemy’s turf.</p><p>                “He’s in there,” Pixie breathed life into the idea and felt certainty settle over her like a soothing blanket. “Nooroo, what can you sense from that Police Impound building?”</p><p>                The kwami squinted in the direction she was pointing before closing his eyes with such a serious expression that Marinette had to resist prodding the little guy.</p><p>                “I can sense the emotional signatures of nearly a dozen individuals. A mildly nervous group walking around the top area, a few calm somewhere in the center of that area, but—”</p><p>                Nooroo gasped, recoiling with a sickened expression on the kwami’s face as the little fellow visibly trembled.</p><p>                “There is a police car pulling out of that lot and it’s just awful,” Nooroo curled in on himself, visibly trembling. “All of the emotions are twisted, but there is one in there that’s like a void! It’s so…warped!”</p><p>                Pressing herself into the wall of the building, Pixie stared in horrified fascination as a police cruiser slinked down the street with four shapeless figures inside. The tinted windows made it impossible to discern any features, but just knowing that the Joker was within reach made it difficult to hold herself back.”</p><p>                “That has to be that beast we’re looking for,” Nooroo hissed, the butterfly’s wings twittering furiously. “I’ve only encountered a human like that a handful of times in all my existence, but they never fail to be dangerous to everyone around them.”</p><p>                “Was Robin in that car?” Pixie demanded urgently. “If he is, we need to move fast before we lose them.”</p><p>                “No,” Nooroo’s response was quickly followed by a shallow gasp. “We need to go now. There is an individual inside the structure with emotions in a state of flux. That typically happens when someone is on the verge of dying.”</p><p>                Plagg hissed and Pixie whipped out her yo-yo and shook her head violently.</p><p>                “I’m not going to let that happen. Okay, that impound lot is practically a giant parkade, but without easy points of access. And if the Joker came out of there, he probably has people guarding the entrances. And considering this guy is toying with Batman…I bet you aerial entrances are the most dangerous approach.”</p><p>                “Then we make our own way in,” Plagg rubbed his paws together. “It’s been too long since I destroyed something.”</p><p>                “Are you sure, Plagg?” Pixie nibbled her lip uncertainly. “You know your powers can be a bit…noticeable”</p><p>                “Relax, I got us covered. I swear you cause a mass extinction once or twice and nobody lets you forget it.”</p><p>                <em>Oh, Plagg.</em></p><p>                “Nooroo, can you tell where our boy is?”</p><p>                “Hmm…below ground level, on the east side.”</p><p>                Stealth was something Marinette excelled at and she put those tactics to good use while slipping over the gate, avoiding suspicious shadows behind glass windows, and skirting the concrete fortress until she stood in front of a daunting wall of concrete that Nooroo was hovering in front of.</p><p>                “How are we, Nooroo?”</p><p>                The kwami patted a slab nearly smack in the middle of the area.</p><p>                “Behind here, maybe ten to fifteen meters inside. It’s odd, but I sense no emotions from anyone near him. If that’s Robin, he’s alone.”</p><p>                A trap? Somehow, Pixie doubted it. Nothing about this felt like it was part of the Joker’s plan.</p><p>                “Plagg, if you cataclysm this, the entire building will come apart.”</p><p>                “Give me some credit! I can destroy way more than just a silly building! I’m going to take out the wall and everything above it too!”</p><p>                Opening her mouth to stop him, Plagg had already darted forward and smashed his paw into the concrete structure with a flash of eerie green light.</p><p>                With a sinister chuckle, the kwami patted the segment of cement lovingly. Chat Noir’s cataclysm had been restricted to a single object—not today. The building’s structure dissolved and came apart before her eyes, while hundreds of cars—that should have collapsed as the parkade disintegrated—rusted billowed outward by sudden bursts of wind. All that was left was a wide-open area that resembled a typical parking lot with no structure and only a few dozen cards parked in numbered rows.</p><p>                “Holy shit!” Pixie gaped as they were showered with dust, only for a gust of wind to carry the worst away.</p><p>                “And that’s how you get rid of problematic obstacles!”</p><p>                Speaking of obstacles…</p><p>                “Nooroo…didn’t you say there were…uh, people on the upper floors?”</p><p>                Nooroo hummed, but seemed to be studying a few parked vehicles critically.</p><p>                “Meh,” Plagg shrugged, seemingly unbothered by casually vaporizing Joker’s henchmen. “Those guys wouldn’t have hesitated to hurt others so, don’t feel too bad, kid. Besides, shouldn’t we concentrate on finding Robin?”</p><p>                Right. Robin. Dead henchmen could wait.</p><p>                “There!”</p><p>                With that, Nooroo sped toward a black, unmarked van and phased through the door. Pixie bolted after the frantic kwami, sliding to a halt as the van door opened with an audible click. Nooroo flew out again and blocked her view of the interior.</p><p>                “I…Marinette…” Nooroo choked with huge watery eyes. “It’s…it’s really bad.”</p><p>                <em>No. Just no.</em></p><p>                Swallowing hard, Pixie fought back the rising bile.</p><p>                “Nooroo, could you stay out here and warn me if someone gets close?”</p><p>                Stepping around the sniffling butterfly, Pixie dropped her bag, and retched as the scent of copper and bodily waste slammed into her.  </p><p>                “Oh no, please no…” Pixie whimpered.</p><p>                Robin’s bare body looked more like a slab of meat on a butcher block than a human being. His entire body had open wounds, burns, and places where bone or muscle were exposed to the eye. Crippling injuries to kneecaps that had been brutalized beyond recognition and  a right arm that appeared to have been nearly severed by a discarded saw.</p><p>                Images of Robin that had splashed across the media showcased a lean, dark-haired male with piercing green eyes. There was little recognizable left of that attractive face; there wasn’t a speck of skin that wasn’t swollen or bloody and it was unclear due to the amount of blood exactly how bad the features were marred.</p><p>                Reaching out with trembling fingers, Pixie paused over the space where an ear was partially detached. Panting through her mouth, Pixie brushed her finger over Robin’s broken nose where the mask had been left in place—another cruel jibe from the Joker that reinforced the fact that Robin was just a pawn in the clown’s war with Batman.  </p><p>                The sudden pressure of fingers on her wrist caused her to jerk back reflexively only for her jaw to sag as she took in slivers of vibrant jade blinking at her.</p><p>                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>                <em>I…don’t want to die again. </em></p><p>                When the Joked jammed his fingers into one of the many wounds on his chest, Damian barely blinked. All he felt was pressure and a sense of wrongness, but Damian wasn’t relieved by the lack of response to the pain. It was a symptom of the inevitable.</p><p>                <em>But I am. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it.  </em></p><p>                Vaguely, he was aware of a fist cracking his jawbone. Fingers tangled in his hair and maddened hazel eyes bore into him. Like a rabid dog, the Joker’s mouth moved, spittle and words that Damian didn’t have the strength or will to process.</p><p>                The last thing he saw, the last thing Damian experienced shouldn’t be the Joker’s choice.</p><p>                Damian closed his eyes.</p><p>                Abandoning his physical body’s deterioration, Damian’s thoughts wandered back to the unfinished canvas on the easel in his rooms.</p><p>                <em>I wonder if I ever could have finished…</em></p><p>                Discovering his talent as a painter would never have come about without the keen observation of Alfred Pennyworth. In less than a week of being placed in his father’s care, Alfred had deposited a sketchpad with professional-grade pencils next to him and asked him to draw his favorite sword. Unable to refuse a challenge, Damian used a pencil in a recreational manner for the first time.</p><p>                For the first time, Damian discovered something he enjoyed just as much as training with his katana.</p><p>                Training to be an assassin required impeccable attention to detail and honed precision. Both of those traits benefited Damian as he delved into the world of art and began mastering strokes of a paintbrush rather than execution strikes.</p><p>                A few innocuous paintings had been relinquished for hanging around the Manor, but only because Pennyworth had a silver tongue. Most of his work, Damian kept locked away simply to avoid the curiosity of his imbecilic brothers.  </p><p>                But would it really matter if he disappeared? Refusing to adhere to common social conventions didn’t mean that Damian was unaware that his personality was incredibly off-putting to most people. There was a reason his brothers called him Demon Spawn.</p><p>                He felt confident that Grayson would be ridiculously emotional about Damian’s death, but he couldn’t see it making any lasting impact on his older sibling. Todd’s reaction would be sudden, explosive, and Damian felt a flash of satisfaction in knowing that Todd would kill the Joker or go down trying. Drake’s reaction was an unknown variable, but Damian he felt the least confident in his relationship with is brother. Pennyworth would move on and father—</p><p>                Damian felt a peculiar sense of regret that he didn’t quite understand as his thoughts drifted to his father; the crooked smile when Damian performed up to Batman’s high standards, the strange tightness he felt in his chest when his father squeezed his shoulder, the way Batman hovered while Pennyworth stitched his shoulder.</p><p>                <em>Father…I know you didn’t want me, but I can’t help but wonder…did you…</em></p><p>                Damian floated, unable to finish his thoughts, feeling like he was a boat being gently buffeted by the waves. Detached from his physical body, the pain he’d endured was far away. There was nothing to hold him back, he knew he could give himself over and let go.</p><p>                Even as he drew closer to that final moment, Damian rebelled against allowing himself to slip away quietly. If he only lasted a few extra minutes, he wanted those minutes. Wanted them for…he needed to wait for—</p><p>                Voices—different than the Joker’s cruelty or the cowardice of the clown’s followers—reached Damian in the shadowed valley of his mind. A voice weighted with fear and desperation. Young, female, but not grating like the high-society wenches that frequented the tedious events Damian was forced to attend.</p><p>                Before Damian knew what he was doing, he was fighting to open his eyes again. It felt like slogging through water, but overcoming his failing body’s resistance made Damian feel more like himself than he’d felt since waking chained to a wall.</p><p>                Fighting his way to consciousness, he felt a surge of triumph despite reconnecting with the pain. Feeling a surge of pleasure, he forced his eyes open.</p><p>                A masked girl knelt over him wearing a dark suit with hair swept into a bun. A smattering of freckles over a small nose, eyes that at first glance appeared like bluebells, but Damian spotted flecks of different shades that his inner artist yearned to capture. It was the expression on the girl’s face that Damian had difficulty reading.</p><p>                The girl’s arms were shaking, suggesting trauma or fear, which could potentially be explained by Damian’s current physical appearance. Those blue eyes were weeping rivers, though her tears were silent. Eyes scrunched: could be anger. But…tears were indicative of sadness.</p><p>                <em>Why?</em></p><p>                “I…this, my powers aren’t working.”</p><p>                Startled confusion as the girl—maybe a metahuman—stared at her hands in frank disbelief as the faint glow faded away.</p><p>                “W-what is going wrong? Why isn’t this working?!”</p><p>                An anguished wail ripped from the girl’s throat. Absently, he was aware of a floating creature—a potential hallucination in his final hour—and the girl speaking. Damian heard none of that. The girl’s features were a rictus of misery and rage, but the sorrow tugged at his emotions in a way that he couldn’t understand.</p><p>                <em>You…are crying for me.</em></p><p>                The notion of angels was…absurd. But maybe an ethereal figure covered in dusty blood, crying for <em>him</em> could be such a thing.</p><p>                A foreign urge stirred within him, compelling him to reach out, to ignore the excruciating scream  as he moved the limb that felt like it weighed a thousand tons. Felt his mouth move, say something that was slipping away—</p><p>                It was a peculiar pang of regret Damian felt as his eyesight faded, those blue bell eyes staring down at him being the last thing he saw.</p><p>                <em>I want to know you. I wish I had the chance.</em></p><p>                Damian Wayne had always spurned his family’s efforts to help him make “friends.” Anyone not privy to his work as a vigilante never merited his attention. Outside of his family, Jonathan Kent was the only person that Damian titled friend.</p><p>                How strange that Damian Wayne only now wondered…<em>what if? </em></p><p>                                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>                “Oh my God, you’re alive!” Leaning forward tenderly, Pixie smiled toothily and carefully clasped the bloody hand and squeezed the fingers gently.</p><p>                “Hi Robin, I’m Pixie and I’ve come to help you.”</p><p>                “No…” the words were uttered carefully but barely audible. She leaned forward tentatively so she didn’t miss anything he said, but also cursing herself for not bringing Kaalki along. A quick getaway really would have come in handy right about now.</p><p>                “Don’t talk okay,” Marinette whispered, trying to evaluate what needed to be done to help Robin. “Save your strength.”</p><p>                Summoning every ounce of her power, Marinette cast out her web of creative energy and wrapped it around the misfortune in Robin’s body, only for a peculiar net of acidic green to rebuff her efforts.</p><p>                What was this? Dumbfounded, she pushed her power against the foreign energy and started panicking as she was repelled again.</p><p>                “I…this, my powers aren’t working,” she said in disbelief, her vision overflowing as a sob escaped her. Stubbornly, she pressed her powers against the green glowing miasma and began crying in earnest as something twisted deep down. “W-what is going wrong? Why isn’t this working?!”</p><p>                Plagg’s voice sounded far off, like a whisper on the far side of a crowded room.</p><p>                A sticky palm pressed against her cheek, the action coaxing her to look down and seeing a puzzled frown as the bloody lips parted.</p><p>                “I’m sorry.”</p><p>                Sorry? Robin was sorry. A stone weighed down her gut and she shook her head viciously.</p><p>                “I’m going to fix this. Just stay with me, okay!” Pixie became frantic as Robin’s lips almost seemed to smile before a groan fell from the boy’s lips and his eyes rolled back and his breathing fell into a series of wheezing coughs that were accompanied by more blood spilling from his mouth. “No, no, no, no! Come on! I’m so, so sorry I took so long to get here, but please, don’t die! You can’t die! I…you didn’t deserve this.”</p><p>                Marinette choked. How could this happen? Why had she messed up again? How was any of this fair? Robin was…just like her.</p><p>                “Marinette.”</p><p>                “He’s dying Plagg,” she wept, a morass of despair roiling within her. “It’s not fair! He’s too young and—some psycho gets to just get away with this!”</p><p>                “Marinette,” Plagg stated insistently. “You can’t do anything, but I <em>can.</em>”</p><p>                What? The despair seemed to encompass her before she battered it aside with the sheer force of her desperation.</p><p>                “What?” Marinette snapped, feeling like she was going into battle. “Tell me what we need to do.”</p><p>                “Not you,” Plagg settled gently against Robin’s shoulder and pressed a paw to the bloody cheek. “If you give Robin my miraculous and he transforms, he’ll live.”</p><p>                “What?!”</p><p>                That didn’t make any sense! Since when did Plagg heal things?!</p><p>                “Look, by now, you’re aware that there are <em>a lot </em>of things Fu didn’t teach you or tell you. Wayzz is boring enough to give you a big spiel later if you want to listen to that shell-head. But we don’t have time to debate this so here is the deal. The first time someone transforms, a connection is forged between kwami and human. Our magic not only manifests your suit and powers, but creates a connection that allows our magic to flow into you. It’s how you can jump off buildings, throw cars, yadda yadda.”</p><p>                “But—”</p><p>                “We don’t have time for twenty questions, our boy down there is running on borrowed time.” Plagg pointed a grave paw to the brutalized boy. “The point is, the first time a person transforms, a kwami’s power literally is adapting your body for powers and this process flows through every part of the body. Since Robin here is about to die, my power won’t put him to a hundred percent, but he shouldn’t need a hospital.”</p><p>                “So, he transforms, releases it, I take you back—”</p><p>                “No.” Plagg interjected sharply. “If you bestow Robin with a miraculous, he keeps it. When the kitten is back on his feet, I’ll bring him to you. You know as well as I do that you need someone to watch your back in this crazy town.”</p><p>                <em>A new partner? Maybe but…I think what Plagg really means is… a friend?</em></p><p>                But, how could she trust someone she doesn't even know? Except, Robin was well-known inside Gotham. This boy had been in this life for probably just as long as Marinette had, maybe longer.</p><p>                Watching the chest rise and fall shallowly, Pixie recognized it had never really been her decision to make. Robin was dying and Plagg could help him. What kind of hero would she be if she didn’t make this leap of faith?</p><p>                “Plagg, I don’t think I can wake him up. How do we do this?”</p><p>                “<em>We</em> don’t. Put the ring on his finger,” Plagg ordered, looking actually a little excited, making Pixie wonder how much the kwami needed this. “Be ready to grab him and run. Kitten won’t be in any shape to wake up for a day or two so don’t expect anything. Also…since the kid can’t talk, I’m going to force a transformation.”</p><p>                Right. Get the hell out of dodge. Yep. Absolutely. Also…interrogate Tikki and the others later.</p><p>                Pixie lifted one of Robin’s hands as carefully as she could and slid the unnaturally cold metal over the exposed knuckle bone and shut her eyes.</p><p>                The vibrant sheen of Plagg’s eyes flashed once before the kwami disappeared and a searing neon green drowned the dying vigilante in a swathe of crackling sparks just as Nooroo’s voice called out.</p><p>                “Pixie, I think we’re about to have a lot of company.”</p><p>                <em>Fuck.</em></p><p> </p><p>                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>                <em>Oh right, because running across the rooftops of Gotham carrying a guy twice my size isn’t suspicious!</em></p><p>                The sirens were non-stop as she lugged Robin’s deadweight, somehow not expecting the guy to be a foot taller than herself. Still, she kept expecting the Joker to jump out of the shadows and try to shoot her or something.</p><p>                “Um, Pixie. But what are you going to do with him now that we’re out of there?”</p><p>                “Yeah, I didn’t exactly plan this out. And even if I had, I can’t exactly just…leave him anywhere. He’s vulnerable and the miraculous is vulnerable too!”</p><p>                “I don’t think you need to worry about Plagg’s new kitten.”</p><p>                “What do you mean?” Pixie huffed, grumbling as she thrust a limb out of her face again.</p><p>                “You’ve got two people coming up behind you and they look like those vigilantes from the t.v.”</p><p>                “What?!”</p><p>                Before she had time to process or plan, two more freakishly tall men swung into path scattering the roosting pigeons. Presumed tentative allies or not, Pixie was not going to be caught flat-footed by the more seasoned vigilantes. And Pixie was still too new for Batman or his team to trust her an iota.</p><p>                Now, of the duo in front of her, the dark suit with blue accents matched the description of Nightwing—woohoo, a costume that didn’t burn her eyes! Pixie’s eye twitched and she had to bite her lip to hold herself back from commenting on the most hideous eyesore excuse for a helmet.</p><p>                Hideous Helmet Man had some sort of gun aimed in her direction, which instantly had her freezing up instinctively.</p><p>                “The fuck? Some little girl?”</p><p>                Pixie’s mind blanked aside from thinking the guy would make a lousy Darth Vader impersonator.</p><p>                Nightwing whipped out one of his famed escrima sticks and pressed Red Hood’s gun sight to the roof.</p><p>                “Who are you carrying?”</p><p>                The taller man may have pointed a gun at her, but Pixie could tell the real threat was Nightwing. Apprehension was etched into every muscle of the vigilante’s body and as she watched the man breathe in controlled huffs—clearly the guy was at the end of his emotional tether.</p><p>                Been there, done that.</p><p>                Empathizing with their worry, Pixie deliberately lowered her guard and patted the suited arm of Robin’s dangling over her shoulder.</p><p>                “Robin’s okay now. I rescued him,” Pixie said.</p><p>                Any reservations she had washed away as Nightwing shuddered, a blinding smile of pure relief spreading over the man’s face, while the helmeted man made some sort of agonized sound that had Nooroo burrowing against Pixie’s leg.</p><p>                “Um, excuse me, but Robin is a lot bigger than me so…would you guys mind lending a hand? But mind his right arm. It was barely attached half an hour ago so I think it will probably be pretty sore still when he wakes up.”</p><p>                That got the pair moving. Nightwing was instantly next to her, pressing a relieved kiss to the crown of Robin’s head, and ducking down to lift the muscular teen in a fireman’s carry. Bucket-Head was carefully looking over Robin’s arm and the makeshift sling that Pixie had rigged in thirty seconds out of her knitted scarves, while frowning at the suit.</p><p>                “Thank you.”</p><p>                Nightwing seemed overwrought with emotion, but sincere as he thanked her in a grave tone.</p><p>                “I didn’t think my little brother would be coming home to us. We won’t forget this.”</p><p>                “Your welcome.” Pixie shook off the praise uneasily, feeling uncomfortable and exhausted all at once. “I couldn’t let that man kill him. I just had to do something.”</p><p>                “This isn’t his suit. What’s the deal?” Helmet Guy spoiled the moment.</p><p>                Pixie’s eye twitched.</p><p>                “Why are <em>you</em> wearing a bucket on your head?”</p><p>                Bucket-Head reared back, while Nightwing’s head snapped around.</p><p>                “The fuck did you just say?!”</p><p>                Pixie stretched her arms and fingered her yo-yo, shot a worried look at Robin’s unconscious face, and shrugged.</p><p>                “Look, I know you have questions for me. I would have questions for me, if I were in your boots. But Robin would have died if I hadn’t so—</p><p>                “For someone that nearly died, he looks damn okay to me,” Red Hood crossed his arms suspiciously. “Maybe this is one of Joker’s twisted ploys.”</p><p>                Pixie glowered hard.</p><p>                “I would NEVER work for some sicko like that! That maniac makes me sick and…don’t ever say I would work with him. Ever!”</p><p>                “Small pint’s got claws,” Hood whistled.</p><p>                “My name is Pixie, Bucket-Head!”</p><p>                “She saved Robin, Hood,” Nightwing intervened sharply. “We owe her the benefit of the doubt.”</p><p>                “Look,” Pixie rubbed her eyes. “I promise I will get in touch with you later and you can ask me as many questions as you like, but I’m exhausted and I need to rest. Your brother should wake up soon, probably…but his transformation is magical and probably won’t last much longer. When it wears off, you’ll need cheese.”</p><p>                Accepting the flummoxed expressions at face value, Pixie yawned.</p><p>                “Take care of him, okies. I’m gonna go nap for a day or two.”</p><p>                <em>And interrogate kwamis.</em></p><p>                Ignoring the shouts for her to wait, Pixie trusted her instincts and her yo-yo skills to carry her home and evade pursuit. It ended up being a fairly convoluted path, but when she finally climbed into her apartment, it was with relief.</p><p>                Releasing her transformation, Marinette stumbled toward her bedroom intently.</p><p>                “Oh, Marinette, I can’t believe you let Plagg go,” Tikki said urgently.</p><p>                “It’s all good, Tikki,” Marinette mumbled as she fell onto her bed cocooned herself in her blankets with a content sigh. “Plagg needed this. Never seen him like that…was pretty special.”</p><p>                “Marinette is right, Tikki.” Nooroo’s voice sounding far away as she drifted off. “Plagg wanted to do this…but I think this will be good for Marinette. She needs…”</p><p>                Kwami shenanigans could wait. Robin was alive. Joker was still out there, but it was time to rest.</p><p>                Marinette slept.</p><p> </p><p>                                                ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~</p><p>                “Mind Master Damian’s arm, Master Dick.”</p><p>                With a tray of everything from basic first-aid to surgical supplies, Alfred greeted them as they made it back to the Cave. Tim was nursing a mug of coffee, while eyeing Damian with that keen analytical eye. Bruce looked a conflicted mess of happiness and concern as he stared at Damian’s uncharacteristically still features beneath the unfamiliar mask.</p><p>                And wasn’t that just what this family needed. The Joker on a murdering rampage and an unknown player that had saved Damian. No apparent motive and only a few stray sightings before. At least this one seemed friendly, though Dick new Batman already had Oracle tracking her down. Like it or not, that little girl had knocked over one of Joker’s blocks and that was bound to attract the wrong kind of attention. It was up to them to find her before the Joker did.</p><p>                A flash of bright green light and Dick officially knew he needed to be tested for one of Scarecrow’s hallucinogens. Damian was stark naked aside from his Robin mask, with at least three sizeable scars that definitely hadn’t been there a few days ago, and an innocuous silver band on his finger. Hovering in the air above his brother’s shoulder was a floating ebony black cat-like critter with gleaming neon green eyes.  </p><p>                “Saving this kitten’s life was exhausting work,” the maybe-a-pokemon yawned. “So…where’s my cheese?”</p><p>                Jay had a gun out, Bruce could have been carved from stone, and Tim’s coffee was dribbling onto the cave floor.</p><p>                “I went ahead and prepared a selection of cheddar, limburger, and swiss,” Alfred presented a platter of sliced cheese with pieces of salami and crackers—seriously, what the hell—and set it on the surgical table next to Damian. “Do you have a name, sir?”</p><p>                “Oh, you may just be my new favorite human,” the tiny creature proceeded to gobble up the platter’s contents at a sickening rate, while nuzzling his brother’s shoulder. “Least my kitten’s family doesn’t seem so lousy this time around.”</p><p>                Disappearing buildings. Tiny girls rescuing his brother. And a floating cat.</p><p>                Nope, Dick could kiss sleep goodbye because there was no way Bruce let any of them rest until they had some answers.</p><p>               </p><p>               </p><p>                 </p><p> </p><p>               </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Tell me what you think?</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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